Explosive Tags for a Devil Fruit?

Pakura sat in the farthest corner of the private room, her chopsticks suspended in midair. She had even forgotten to chew the premium marbled beef in her mouth.

She looked at Qian Ye in the seat of honor. The warm yellow light fell across the young man's profile, lending this brat—usually so sharp-tongued, greedy, and full of schemes—a radiance that made it impossible to look away.

He had not used hollow slogans to pressure them, nor had he lectured anyone with the so-called Will of Fire. Instead, he had genuinely analyzed the situation for these young people of Hidden Leaf and found them a path forward.

Why was Sunagakure poor? Why was it always at war?

Because higher-ups like Rasa and Chiyo only had force, plunder, and schemes on their minds. They treated the village's shinobi as expendable goods, and even her—a hero who had earned tremendous merit—as a bargaining chip they could discard at any time.

They had never considered what the shinobi at the bottom truly needed, nor what Sunagakure truly lacked.

Pakura lowered her eyes, her throat bobbing slightly as she swallowed the beef in her mouth with effort.

If Qian Ye had been born in the Land of Wind, in Sunagakure, would different flowers have bloomed amid those endless yellow sands?

Would Sunagakure's civilians and Genin no longer have to be treated as worthless cannon fodder?

Pakura's hand tightened slightly around her chopsticks, but she quickly forced the absurd thought deep into her heart.

She was only a prisoner. Tomorrow, she would be sent to the border for the handover. Whether Sunagakure would come for her, or use the opportunity to kill her, remained unknown.

There was no point in thinking about it.

Akımichi Hai rubbed his round belly, his hands trembling as he paid the